


Mixed Up Tea Leaves

by weepingnaiad



Series: Tea Leaves [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Backstory, Behind the Scenes, Gen, Melinda May's mom is a badass, Minor Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Ling May saves Melinda May and one time Melinda saves her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mixed Up Tea Leaves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladydeathfaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydeathfaerie/gifts).



> **Beta:** Both hitlikehammers and abigail89 read through this for me. Thank you both so much! Of course, I can't help but fiddle afterwards, so any mistakes are all on me.
> 
>  **A/N:** So many notes. Sorry. I put them at the end, please go there if you are confused.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** These are Marvel and Whedon and ABC's characters used in the spirit of creative commons. I promise to return them with smiles on.

Four times Ling May saved Melinda May and One Time Melinda May saved her

*~*

_#1: The way the game is played._

Ling watched as the Triskelion and those ridiculous monstrosities fell into the Potomac. She gritted her teeth, clutching both phones at her side, eyes glued to the television and the computer, but she didn't dare dial the phone despite having the number memorized even though she'd yet to call it. She didn't know where Melinda was, but she knew her daughter was out there in the thick of it and didn't need her adding to the chaos.

When she couldn't stand it any longer, when her eyes were going blurry and her lungs were threatening to seize, she paced. Then she drank tea. She baked. She picked flowers. She watched. And waited.

_Hydra._

She dialed the phone. Nigel was long gone, but she still had contacts, was owed favors. She ended up with more than she bargained for, but still no clear idea where her daughter was. She pushed a little harder, dug a little deeper, frowning at some of the things she was freely offered. That was not how the game was played.

This was a disaster. Far reaching and so dangerous. She wondered why it was being allowed, how it had come to this.

And still no Melinda.

She began to sift through the records that had been downloaded to an encrypted drive farm. Of course the agency would take the data dumped onto the internet for all to see. No sense wasting the opportunity handed to them on a silver platter. S.H.I.E.L.D had technology and contacts that her agency only dreamed of having.

After she logged in, she blanched at the sheer scale of the operation, its global reach and the depth of the infection. No wonder they'd had to raze it to the ground. This wasn't an infiltration. It wasn't a cancerous growth that could be excised. S.H.I.E.L.D. _was_ Hydra and vice versa, the one indistinguishable from the other.

She nearly wept for the undercover operatives who were undercover no more. She did weep for her daughter and Peggy Carter's blighted legacy.

Days passed as she kept one eye on the television news and another on the computer screen. She sought names, friends, associates, acquaintances, anyone that Melinda had mentioned in passing; the good, the bad, _anyone._ A few were safe, most were in the wind, and a few others were confirmed dead. Most died in the fighting during the takeover attempt, but there were a few bodies that turned up later. Jasper Sitwell was a shock. Victoria Hand deserved a moment of silence. And Nick Fury brought tears to her eyes. Damn the infuriating man!

Ling lit incense, placing it in the brazier as she offered up a quiet prayer for all the lives lost. Her most fervent prayers were for her daughter's well being.

She was having tea when the phone rang.

Her heart was pounding when she heard Melinda's voice. "Ma?"

So Ling took a long, deep breath, exhaling slowly to keep her voice from shaking. "Melinda, where are you?" She paused. "Are you all right?"

"Ma. Please. Just come get me." She sounded exhausted and worse.

"Coordinates?" Ling asked, grabbing a pen and paper.

She took the information, calculated the distance and driving time before settling on an approximate location. "Will you have a phone? Or a tracker? Some way for me to find you?"

"I have my cell. Call this number when you're close," Melinda replied.

"I'll see you in ten to twelve hours, traffic willing," Ling said.

"Wait!" Melinda stopped Ling from cutting the call.

"Yes?"

"I need whatever you can find on Maria Hill."

"Whatever is a wide net, Qiaolian."

"Address, phone, contact details," Melinda elaborated.

"I will see what I can do."

Thank you," Melinda said.

Heart in her throat, Ling cut the call. She had work to do and a daughter to retrieve.

*~*

The return was easier if no less silent because Ling could see that Melinda was unharmed. Physically at least. The dark circles under her eyes and the lack of light in them spoke of an emotional toll that Ling could not imagine. She kept her silence and drove, taking care not to push harder than Melinda could handle, lest she break. Ling had patched her together once, she wasn't sure there would be enough left to repeat the process.

*~*

After a shower, food, and a good night's rest, Melinda was up with the dawn, prowling the yard. Ling watched her from the kitchen window as she made tea and breakfast. They needed to talk.

*~*

"Ma!" Melinda cut Ling off. "I have to do this now!"

Ling sat in her favorite chair with a view of the gardens through the wide picture window. But her attention was fully focused on her agitated daughter. "No, you do not, Qiaolian. Maria is shielded from harm by Stark Industries and --"

"Phil isn't," Melinda said, words low and raw.

"Phil is an idiot," Ling said. "If he cannot _see_ \--"

"I betrayed him. Lied to him." Melinda refused to listen.

"You followed orders," Ling argued. "Would he have done anything differently had it been you?" she asked, voice pointed and hard.

"I--"

Ling crossed her arms over her chest. "Exactly. You are a spy. He is a spy. You work for a secret organization. Lies are the coin of the realm."

"But--"

"No buts, dear one. That is the way the game is played."

Melinda sagged a bit, her shoulders slumping as she ducked her head. "It's not a game. Not for me. Not about Phil."

Ling was unsurprised by Melinda's declaration. She'd seen for herself just how worthy Phillip James Coulson was. They'd consoled each other when they feared Melinda was lost to them. Phil was a good man, honorable and kind, despite his chosen career. The small, secretive smile on Ling's lips were because her daughter had finally admitted how much Phil meant _to her,_ though Ling had suspected long ago and had known without a doubt after New York and Melinda's agonized phone call. About time by Ling's count.

"Take another day to rest, then you can find Maria," Ling offered. "Though I think you're wrong."

"Maria's not Hydra," Melinda said.

"No, of course not. But Phil does not need _her._ He needs _you._ Give him time to realize that, then return. You will see."

Melinda looked at her, her eyes bright with hope and something more. Ling had missed that sparkle. She chuckled to herself. Of course it would be a _man_ that gave Melinda reason to live. It'd started the same for Ling. Melinda sipped her tea, her shoulders loose and back at ease. Ling thought about having a granddaughter with Melinda's dark hair and Phil's blue-blue eyes. It was a good thought.

~~*~~

_#2: Picking up the pieces._

Phil pulled up into the driveway and Melinda was out of the car, duffle on her shoulder and striding up the steps before he had even turned the car off. Ma opened the door and Melinda strode past, uncaring what happened behind her. She heard Phil and her mother conversing quietly as she grabbed a glass of water from the sink, but she ignored them both, fearing that her mother would invite Phil to stay if Melinda let slip how much she'd come to rely on his presence.

She wanted him to stay. Forever. Melinda had clung to him, drawing strength from the arms that held her up, wiped blood from her face and arms without judgment. But she was home now and didn't need to be propped up. Not here. Besides, she would drag him down if he stayed. They'd both lost enough. She wasn't about to let him lose S.H.I.E.L.D. too.

Without saying a word or looking at either of them, she took the stairs to her bedroom.

Opening the door reminded Melinda that she was _home._ And safe.

Phil had warned they were coming because the bedside lamps were on, set low and warm, the bed was turned down, and Tigger, battered and bruised but still upright, greeted her from a nest of pillows.

Feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders, Melinda sighed. She dropped her bag then rifled through her drawers. She changed into an ancient pair of Cal sweats and an even older Bangkok t-shirt, then buried herself under the freshly laundered sheets, Tigger clutched tightly to her chest. He'd guarded her dreams since before she could remember. It was a childish hope, but she fervently wished he could still keep the nightmares at bay.

Tigger's magical protection had worn off, or wasn't up to the task of defending her dreams from blood splattered desert sand. Either way, Melinda did not sleep well; she hadn't since she passed out against Phil's shoulder on the transport back stateside. She did finally drop into a dreamless slumber near dawn and woke hours later to her mother setting tea on her nightstand and straightening her blankets while tightening the shades.

Melinda sat up, blinking in the bright light seeping in at the edges of her curtains. "Ma?" she asked, confused.

"It is time for tea."

"I wasn't… I'm not…"

"Just say 'thank you', Qiaolian."

Melinda took the tea cup and ducked her head. "Thank you, Mother."

"Lunch is soon."

"Is…" Melinda hesitated. She was unused to feeling so tentative, but everything she thought or felt she had to double-check, make sure the emotion or idea was genuine. Taking a breath, she asked, "Is Phil still here?"

Ma patted the back of her hand and shook her head. "He left early this morning." She looked cautious, weighed her words before speaking. "I insisted that you were fine here and he should return to his job. It took some convincing, but he did go."

Melinda didn't want to feel a flash of warmth when thinking about Phil. He'd _wanted_ to stay here for her. He'd been there for her. She wanted him close. One word and he would have stayed, damn the consequences. But Melinda was broken, jumping at shadows, afraid to close her eyes for the blood that painted her eyelids. She couldn't drag Phil into her nightmare.

Sipping her tea to save her the need to answer, she didn't.

Ma stopped at the door and gazed back at Melinda. "Take a shower, or a hot bath. Lunch will keep if you run long." Then she was gone and Melinda was left with her thoughts, not the most pleasant of company. But at least she was safe.

Lunch was simple, but delicious. Ma made Melinda's favorite soup and Melinda could feel its soothing heat seeping into the cracks in her soul.

From there, her mother sat down beside her with a large scrapbook

"I'm in no mood to reminisce, Ma," Melinda said.

"No, but I am," Ma replied, opening the leather cover, her narration of the unfamiliar images flowing into Melinda's consciousness.

The first picture was of a young woman, thin, eyes large, scared, but her bearing was straight, upright. Melinda's mother had done the unthinkable: left her family and the arranged marriage they sold her into for the big city and its possibilities. She had little money and no street skills, but she was smart and adaptable and lucky.

The next photo was of Nigel Humphreys. In all the years she'd known the man, he'd never had so much hair, such a bright smile, or been so very young. He'd seen something in the young Ling, something beyond saving another young woman from the streets of Beijing, and he'd taken her under his wing.

The next photos showed just how far that scared young woman had come; her transition astounding. Under Nigel's tutelage and the education provided by the agency, Ling grew into her beauty, strength shown from her limbs, and happiness sparkled from her eyes. Melinda lingered on these photos, finger brushing the images as she tried to imagine her mother ever laughing aloud as she was in a photo of her with other beauties in swimsuits, their toes digging into the sand, the surf behind them.

Whoever documented Ling's life was a skilled photographer. Melinda suspected Humphreys himself because he appeared in so few of the images, but had been so important in her early life and career.

When Ma turned the next page, she hesitated a moment, finger hovering over the handsome profile of Melinda's father. Melinda's eyes left the page and glanced at her mother. The tenor of her words had not changed, but she was no longer relaxed, her shoulders were tight and Melinda didn't know if it was because of memories of Nicholas, or because this is the first time Ma had ever shared this piece of herself with Melinda. Throughout her years, Melinda had begged, cajoled, bargained to know her father, but she only got tidbits, morsels to tide her over, but nothing more than the barest of facts about the man that died before she had been born.

And now Ma was sharing everything.

Melinda sat, rapt, as she looked at the few photos and listened to their stories. She couldn't see what her mother had fallen in love with except that he had kind eyes and a winning smile that reminded her of Phil in a way. Maybe she and her mother had a type?

The scrapbook ended with two photos: one of Ling dressed in black, mourning the man she'd loved while the other was taken from a distance, with Ling likely unaware that it'd been taken. She was standing on a boardwalk, largely pregnant, her face slightly tipped up to the sun, and even with her eyes closed, it was obvious that her vibrancy was muted by loss.

Melinda didn't know whether to smile or cry.

"You never--" she began, voice thick.

Ma patted her knee, then left a cool hand in place. "He was my past. One that I freely gave up, as he gave up his life for _us._ "

Melinda turned to her mother. "What?"

"It took time to unravel the players. Nigel even dislodged a few on his staff that were involved in it. But Nicholas got wind that I'd been blown. He dove in without thinking, without telling anyone because he knew there was a mole in the department." Ling's voice was distant, her eyes unfocused as she told this one last tale of Melinda's father's heroism. "You were born with everyone thinking him a traitor, but Nigel trusted my instincts. He didn't stop until your father's name was cleared."

Silence fell as Melinda grappled with the words, the very idea that her mother and father had been so very much in love was foreign to her at best and so alien. She had grown up the child of a widowed diplomatic attaché with no idea that her mother still worked for the agency, no clue that the agency had placed her in those embassies, that it was her job that forced all of those upheavals in Melinda's life, that something far greater had been in the works. Melinda had been resentful and rebellious based on a cover story.

She looked up at Ma, their eyes locking. "Why didn't you tell me before now?"

"It is the job, Qiaolian. It will take those we love and take us, too, if we let it."

"I'm not ready to talk about what happened," she said.

"You may never be. But talking doesn't heal all wounds. Time does," Ma said, giving Melinda's knee a quick squeeze before she stood with the scrapbook.

"I'm not going back," Melinda blurted out.

Ma looked down at her. "Then don't. No one expects you to."

Melinda ducked her head. "Phil does. He wants me back," she hesitated. "We work well together."

Ma leaned over, brushed her lips along Melinda's forehead, murmuring, "It is good you have a friend, but a true one will wait for you, however long the journey."

"I--"

"Rest. You are not sleeping well," Ma said. She lifted up the soft blanket from behind the sofa and draped it over Melinda's lap. "The problems out there will look more manageable after you have slept."

When she pulled away, Melinda grabbed her wrist. "Did you love him, Ma?"

"With all my heart. He would have been so proud of you, Qiaolian. So very proud."

Melinda's shattered heart healed some at that thought.

~~*~~

_#3: Commencement is the beginning._

Ling lifted her head from her roses when she heard tires on the gravel drive. She stood, waiting for the postal carrier to stop. Taking the bundle of mail she chatted with Tim's replacement for a bit before allowing him to leave. When she glanced at the letters, she shook her head at the fact that all but her phone bill were addressed to Melinda. She had to give it to the modern incarnations of the intelligence agencies. They were incredibly persistent. Probably had to be since not a one of them was highly favored by almost anyone nowadays.

Glancing at the return addresses she noted that she needed to make a few more calls. At least it seemed that her own agency had stopped vieing for Melinda's favor. Nigel himself had tried to talk Ling into agreeing, but she'd been determined that her daughter not fall in with any traditional cloak and dagger agency. Despite Melinda's insistence on Berkeley, she'd proven herself far too skilled and caught their attention anyway. Who could blame them? Melinda would be graduating Summa Cum Laude with a dual major in history and geopolitics, her specialization in Asian studies. She was smart, talented, and beautiful and any agency would be lucky to have her.

But Ling's daughter was fated for something else. So she destroyed the letters, dissuaded the callers, and kept carefully mum when Melinda inquired about them.

Soon enough, Melinda would be through with her studies and bound for a comfortably safe doctoral program at Harvard or Cambridge. Only then would Ling rest easy once again.

*~*

But, of course, Melinda was Ling's daughter and she no more did what was expected of her than Ling had. That tendency had shown itself quite early, culminating in her utterly ignoring Ling's desire that she attend university in England. Instead, Melinda insisted on not only a university on the West Coast of the United States, but she chose one of the most liberal and radical schools available.

Melinda excelled in anything she put her mind to and Berkeley was no match for her determination so the recruitment letters flowed in from all over. The ones from the United States military made Ling laugh, but the other intelligence agencies were too near her own heart for Ling to be sure of Melinda's refusal.

She would learn that very answer the hard way.

Melinda showed up unexpectedly after her successful mid-terms, the smile on her face bright and wide, as though she could take on the world. Ling knew damn well that her daughter could and likely would one day. She just wanted her to do it from the safety of a research lab or a cushy tenured position.

"Melinda! I was not expecting you!"

"It's okay, Ma. Got a break from classes."

"But how did you…"

"I hitched a ride from the Pittsburgh airport."

Ling swallowed her reply as Melinda disappeared past her and up to her room. She had very little to say as Melinda came and went for the next two days. There was almost nothing to get up to in their small community, so she had no idea what Melinda was doing. And her daughter was not forthcoming in the least.

Melinda slept in every day and Ling didn't question her own motivation for having her daughter close. She should have known better.

She was making tea for Melinda's late breakfast when the doorbell rang. Melinda shouted from upstairs, "I've got it, Ma!"

But Ling thought that was nonsense and strode toward the living room, only to be bypassed by Melinda who was fully dressed, even wearing shoes and makeup.

"Melinda May?" a lovely, accented voice asked from the porch.

"Yes! Come in, Director Carter." Melinda's voice sounded calm and sure if you did not know her. But Ling easily heard the quiver of excitement.

Then it hit Ling: _Director Peggy Carter_ of S.H.I.E.L.D. was in her living room.

Well, now. That just wouldn't do.

Ling served tea, held her tongue for the most part, and gauged just what exactly a legend was doing here while she schemed to get her to leave.

Peggy Carter was _good._ Not only was she still quite beautiful, even with a couple of decades on Ling, but she was a formidable woman who could light up the room with her smile while her eyes held cold steel. Ling pitied the men who had underestimated Dame Peggy Carter. Ling was not about to make the same mistake.

Sadly, Melinda was already snared and Ling had no energy or desire to fight a losing battle. Melinda must have already accepted because Director Carter pulled out the recruiting forms -- a mere _formality_ \-- for her to sign. Ling couldn't smile, had to keep her thoughts well concealed, but working for S.H.I.E.L.D. was a coup for Melinda and the one agency that Ling could admit had been on her own radar. But she'd had to see how determined S.H.I.E.L.D. was. Knowing that Peggy Carter herself recruited her daughter made Ling smile inside.

Melinda was going places. And Ling couldn't have been more proud.

~~*~~

_#4: Fleeing in the night._

Mama shook her awake, placing a soothing hand on Melinda's forehead while tenderly covering her mouth to shush her confused cries. The only light in the room was her dim Winnie The Pooh night light and Melinda blinked up at Mama. Her face eased and with a short nod, she removed her palm from Melinda's mouth, but Melinda blurted out, "Mama?"

"Shhhhh. We're going on a trip, baby."

Melinda rubbed her eyes, grumbling. "Don't wanna. I _like_ it here."

"You'll like it where we're going," Mama said, that little crinkle between her eyes showing up. Melinda pouted. She hadn't done anything wrong. Why'd they have to move _again?_

Mama tugged open Melinda's dresser, grabbing her favorite sweater, its matching skirt with all the bright colors she loved. When Mama turned, she frowned. "Up, child."

"Now? It's still dark."

Mama bundled the clothes in a hastily emptied pillowcase, adding in Melinda's white boots and a pair of tights. When Melinda hadn't moved, Mama sighed aloud, her frown growing. "We have to go _now_ , Qiaolian." Her jaw tightened, then her face cleared and she held out her arms. "Hold on tight to Tigger and I'll carry you."

Melinda clambered into her mother's arms, clinging tightly as a sleep-warmed blanket was wrapped around her.

They strode down corridors lit only by an occasional open door, meeting few people. Melinda heard them nearby. There were muffled shouts, even swearing and a far-off boom that rattled the windows. When they left the residential wing, chaos erupted around them. Everyone was rushing around, going somewhere in a big hurry.

Mama took large strides past Melinda's school room, passing her playground and the courtyard with the burbling fountain Melinda loved to sit beside while staring up at the clouds. Suddenly a gate opened in front of them and they were in an area of the compound Melinda had never seen before. It seemed to be a large, grassy area with cars and bright lights. Then a loud whirring sound began accompanied by a blast of wind. Melinda buried her face against her mother's shoulder as the whirring sped up and began to thrum hard enough that it took her breath away.

There were shouts of "Hurry! Hurry!" then strange hands were pulling her from Mama's arms. Melinda cried out and fought, kicking at the men until Mama scolded her, "Hush, child! I'm right here. They're just helping us into the helicopter."

They were shoved against a small bench with a high, hard back, Melinda resting half on Mama as the man and teenage boy who lived next door joined them on the bench. The thrumming sped up, getting louder until Melinda had to cover her ears and press her face against her mother's stomach. There was a sickening lurch, Melinda's stomach swooped and twisted, while the wind threatened to pull them back out into the night until one of the men in uniform wrestled the door closed. Melinda sobbed in relief and crawled completely onto her mother's lap. Mama clasped her tightly, one hand splayed on her back while the other combed through the tangles in Melinda's hair, the movement reassuring and relaxing. Melinda dropped off into an exhausted slumber, her mom's quiet humming a calming rumble against her ear.

~~*~~

_+1: A destined path?_

Lien met the doctor's eyes, her face carefully schooled. No emotion. No reaction. She would not reveal her fear. She didn't even flinch when he placed a clammy, all too familiar hand on her knee.

"We'll need to notify the father," he said, paternal and condescending, as though Ling was incapable of managing her own affairs. "To get his permission--"

"Thank you," she cut him off. "That will not be necessary," she replied as she gently lifted his hand. She wore a carefully crafted smile, one meant to disarm and distract.

"But, Mrs. Song--" he spluttered.

"I am not married, Doctor Cammish. Thank you for your concern."

With the unsettling news confirmed, the written test result carefully folded and placed inside an interior pocket of her handbag, Lien went home, made herself a cup of tea and curled under a blanket, Nicholas' jazz record on repeat. She allowed herself no more than one evening to brood before she set her shoulders and headed into the depths of the city.

The wizened woman took one look at Lien and turned around, leading her through the overstuffed storefront and into the back behind a vividly colored curtain. The room was dimly lit, its single bulb high in the ceiling obscured by a blood red paper lantern. The room smelled of wax and herbs, as well as the strong tea steeping on the small table, not to mention the incense burning on a brazier sitting on a small, candlelit altar. Lien took the seat indicated and waited as the ancient woman settled across from her. She drank the tea, offered her finger without a grimace at the sharp sting, didn't shy away from her blood mingling with tea leaves and some mysterious powdered herb.

When at last the woman spoke, she sounded truly regretful.

"The father does not survive," she stated. Lien shook her head, her heart hammering as the last of her hope burned to ash.

"You are in danger of following him."

When Lien would have denied that, the woman shook her head.

"Only you can change your fate and the fate of your daughter."

Instinctively, Lien touched her stomach, confirming the seer's guess.

"You have a choice, Lien Song, the career, its false patriotism, overt nationalism, and patriarchy, or…"

Lien leaned forward, drawn in as the woman's voice grew softer.

"Your child's life."

The sage went silent. And Lien scrambled for a question, attempting to compose her thoughts. She was both thrilled and terrified, unnerved that she carried a girl-child, but not afraid of raising her alone. She'd always known she'd end up alone, nothing else had been in her plan. She hadn't planned on falling in love or on a baby, but she was adaptable.

She looked up and met the cloudy gaze of the woman. "There is no other way?"

"There is always another way, but your daughter will be important, in ways that are yet unclear."

"What should I do?"

The woman smiled, her grin crooked and gaping. "You know. The question has always been if you have the courage to do it."

"You doubt that I have courage?" Lien stood, affronted.

She chuckled. "No, but _you_ do." With that, she waved Lien away. "Pay my son," she said, dismissing Lien as she tidied up the cups and saucers.

Lien blinked, then turned away, her thoughts more chaotic than they'd ever been, even when she walked away from the marriage her father had arranged for her. This, like that, was her choice, but so much less under her control.

She paid the woman's son who looked nearly as old as Lien's father must by now, ignoring his leer as she walked away.

Even before the seer had told her that she was having a girl, Lien had been determined to keep the baby. A piece of Nicholas she'd be able to keep. The knowledge that her daughter would be important in some way only made Lien more determined.

Instead of taking the rest of her vacation, she went to the office, easily slipping into the tall building appearing to be just another young secretary bound for a job in the typing pool while she was waiting to find a husband. Lien smiled to herself as she glanced around the elevator. She had come so far and was nothing like the girls that surrounded her. Maybe she never had been like them?

The majority exited at the floor filled with IBM typewriters, the click-clack of keys already echoing, and Lien was grateful that hadn't been her fate anymore than being married to a man twice her age with a hard set to his eyes. The other two occupants of the elevator exited one floor before Lien and she didn't miss the way the man patted the woman's ass as the door closed. Another thing that she was grateful for. Her supervisor and long-time mentor in the agency was paternalistic, and only a few of the others she came in contact with had ever touched her with anything but genial friendship. Only a couple had made advances and those were shut down quickly. Her experience was unusual and Lien knew it; she had heard too many stories, had her own experiences before the agency and outside of its confines, even had to put up with the Americans and their overtly sexist attitudes. So, this discussion, this change from being an operative, an asset that was treated hardly different than a man was going to come as a shock to her superior, her mentor. But Lien had her resignation typed up and ready. She had from the moment Nicholas disappeared.

And now there'd be no question that they'd have to accept it. The agency couldn't use a pregnant field operative.

The Hong Kong office was small, little more than a front with most of the operatives working out of the home office in London, but a few, like Lien herself, were permanently stationed there.

"Lien!" Miss Birtwistle greeted. She stood up from her desk and circled to Lien, pulling her close and pressing their cheeks together familiarly. "Your holiday has grown dull?" she asked, teasing. "Couldn't keep away from all the paperwork?"

"Never a dull moment, Sue, but I really need to speak to Nigel."

Sue nodded and looked at the open appointment book on her desk. "He's free now for half an hour, will that do?"

"Yes, please?" Lien asked.

"Shall I buzz you through?"

"That won't be necessary. I'll let myself in."

"Go right ahead, but you owe me the story," Sue said as she waved Lien forward.

"The story?" Lien asked with her hand on the door knob.

Sue grinned. "I know something's up and I'm dying to know what!"

Lien nodded, a small smile lifting her lips. "You'll be the first after Nigel to know. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that!" Sue said.

Then the door was closing behind Lien and she had to face Nigel Humphreys, division director and the man that took a chance on Lien. He was her mentor and her friend, so this wasn't going to be easy.

He didn't make it easy on her. Nigel had never particularly approved of or even liked Nicholas. He'd respected his skills, trusted him for the agency, but he'd always been a bit suspicious of him and that distrust only grew when Lien revealed their relationship. His objection to Lien's resignation was firm and unwavering.

He tore up the letter when she handed it to him, then glared at her to sit.

She sat.

And then she listened. She believed that she'd known what happened to Nicholas, but the truth had been kept from her. Nigel was still shielding her and she couldn't decide how to feel about that. She refused to believe that Nicholas was a traitor, couldn't believe he'd sold secrets to Mao Zedong's government. But the evidence was solid, nearly irrefutable, except for two dates that didn't match up. Two dates for which she personally knew Nicholas' whereabouts.

She pulled the dossier to her and began reading, scouring the voluminous report for other incongruities, becoming so engrossed, she never noticed when Nigel cleared his afternoon for her. She found too many inconsistencies, too many coincidences for it all to 'feel' right. She pointed out the details to Nigel and looked at him, far too hopeful, but she never could hide from him.

"If this is true, then that means you're in danger," he said, pausing. "You and the baby."

Logically that should have been no surprise to Lien. Her job was dangerous, it always had been. But it wasn't just her life that was on the line, not anymore. And this file indicated a larger conspiracy, one that she was ill-equipped to delve into.

He must have seen the realization dawn on her face, because he took the chair next to hers and said, voice that soothing balm he used to coax Lien down from her rashness, "You can't run away. Not from this. They'd find you."

Returning home had never really been an option, and now it most certainly wasn't. She would never bring danger down on her family. "Then what do you suggest?" she asked.

"I propose that Nicholas' beautiful lover dies in a suspicious accident, while the embassy in Singapore gets a new diplomatic secretary."

Lien couldn't agree fast enough. With one pen stroke, Lien Song, MI-6 operative, died, and Ling May, pregnant widow was born.

Her new life was nothing like her old. It consisted of making tea, taking dictation, and typing -- so much typing! It was far from glamorous, but she was no less an operative, if less field-worthy as she grew larger. The men who killed Nicholas were discovered, while the whole Asian division suffered a sweeping house cleaning, but no one found Lien. Nigel saw to that.

When he brought Lien Nicholas' service revolver and his posthumous commendation, Melinda gurgled up at him from Lien's arms. He smiled gently and so proudly as he took his goddaughter in his arms and Lien -- no, _Ling_ \-- knew that she was never going back.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> 1) As is obvious, the story runs backward in time. Hopefully that's pretty clear without me using the dates as the section headers.
> 
> 2) Melinda May's mom has not been given a name apparently. And, because I don't like to do things the easy way, I've given her two names in this story (the reason will be evident). Ultimately, she becomes Ling since that was Tsai Chin's character's name in "You Only Live Twice" (where she was an MI-6 double agent that helped Bond fake his death).
> 
> 3) I do try to be considerate and accurate with names, but, again, the internet is my source and we all know what happens if you trust the internet 100%. [MI-6 names](http://www.theawl.com/2010/07/68-fantastic-british-names-gathered-while-watching-bbc-credits-over-the-years), [Girl names](http://babynamesworld.parentsconnect.com/search.php?p=origin&e=org&i_origin=chinese&s_gender6=2&page=2), [Surnames](http://surnames.behindthename.com/names/usage/chinese).
> 
> 4) The title is from _"If The Brakeman Turns My Way"_ by Bright Eyes, suggested to me by hitlikehammers who is my go to person for inspirational pieces.
> 
> 5) I hope my recipient enjoys this fic. It is not the one I intended (and started) writing, but the muses for the other story threw up their hands and went on strike when the backstory took over. I do hope this pleases. I do plan to finish the first story at some point as well, time willing, because I already had a huge chunk of story that I want to finish.


End file.
